A Good Dog
by Peres
Summary: A good dog knows that there are no choices in matters of love and of loyalty. Warning: rather dark.


**Author's note: I would never imagine that my first Dragon Age story would turn into something like this. It was supposed to be a poem, but there was a little too much plot to fit in... I really don't know what else to say about it, except that I do apologise.**

I loved Her from the moment I saw Her.

The two-legged ones say these things, but they don't understand them. They seem to think that there are choices in matters of love and of loyalty. They fight, they betray, they lie and disobey. I saw these things at the battle of Ostagar, and many times since, but I have never come to understand them. Your pack is your pack, and your pack leader is your pack leader.

She is mine.

There are others who are pack with us. There is the bitch who runs on two legs and on four. It makes her scent confusing, but I do not mind her presence. She is not like the howling bitch, who chatters like a rook. Her voice is as squeaky as that of the prey she brought into the camp. She insisted it was pack, despite its helplessness, its pink, juicy...

... forgive me. I am easily distracted sometimes. Now, there is much speech, and that I do not care for.

There is the old bitch. She smells wrong, and she talks almost as much as the howling bitch. Also, she once threatened to make me other, changing my proud, warrior's tail into something longer. Foolish bitch. A long tail is made for your enemy's teeth. The only red that belongs on your hide is your enemy's blood.

I concede that the antlers might have been useful... but then I wouldn't have got so many head scratches.

These things are important to a dog, you know.

The moving stone confuses me. It smells like rock, looks like rock, and yet it speaks. It says it was once like the red one. He is almost as irritating as the old bitch. I am a warrior, not some tame horse, a slave to ride or pull chariots.

The tallest one knows this, and grants me proper respect. For this reason, I help him in his training. In battle, he hits people with a long stick (his teeth and claws are not as sharp as mine); in practice, he throws sticks. I fetch them back for him, so he need not waste time searching for more suitable sticks to throw. I believe this helps him strengthen his front legs – since he does not walk on them, they are naturally weaker than mine.

Also, he tends to have a bone about his person.

There is the small one. He challenged the pack and tried to kill Her. I wanted to tear his throat out, but She chose otherwise. That is Her right as leader, and I accepted him among the pack. I thought I understood why when he came sniffing around Her, and certainly it was right that she should take a mate. Puppies are the future of the pack and there is joy in mating. She deserves that.

They are still talking.

She did take a mate, but it was not the small one. It was not the red one, nor the tallest one. I still believe that the tallest one would have been a good choice, for he is the strongest of all of them and these traits should be encouraged in the breed, but bitches will do as they please, and She chose otherwise.

She chose Him. A warrior, but not as strong as the tallest one, nor as swift as the small one. The first of them to know who I was. I like Him, because He makes Her happy even when She is sad. He protects Her. These are good things in a mate.

And He will sometimes share His cheese with me. I like that, too.

We have seen many strange things, this pack. We have seen wolves that walk on two legs, rocks and metal skins that move and speak, bones that fight like men. We spent many days in a tunnel, filled with the wrong ones. There, in the darkness, we found one of their bitches. It was not easy to kill her, but it had to be done for the good of the pack. She could not be permitted to whelp yet more of the wrong ones.

Then we returned to the tunnel city. A challenge to pack leadership is recognisable, whatever form it takes. These two-legged ones howl at each other instead of fighting, but in the end, only one of them can lead the tunnel pack, and it is the one She chose.

The same thing happens now. All the pack leaders of the land are gathered here to choose a leader for the pack-of-all-packs. She faces down the dark one who betrayed us at Ostagar. I want to tear his throat out, and I do not realise I am growling until He mutters a few soft words and strokes my ears.

The dark one barks louder, but Her voice carries too, and the pack leaders know it. More and more of them join their voices to Hers. Even the blonde bitch, the dark one's pup and mate to the previous pack leader, turns against him.

The dark one grows more and more desperate. Finally he calls for a fight.

She looks at him. "My mabari will be my champion," She says.

They do not allow this, however hard I plead. The foolish one thinks my allegiance is suspect, that I could be bribed with a ham bone. While a ham bone would be pleasant, it would not sway me from justice. I growl at him, too, but he is adamant, and after a small discussion, Her mate steps forward to defend Her. It is fitting that He should do this.

They circle each other, the dark one and He. If they were dogs, they would be growling, their hackles raised. Instead, they are silent, their eyes appraising the other, looking for weaknesses or openings.

She drops down beside me, the fear-scent rolling off Her in great choking waves. She fears for Her mate – it is true that the dark one is older and more cunning, but He has been practising constantly with the tallest one and the red one, not to mention all the wrong ones He has killed. I lick Her face to reassure her, as He raises his shield to deflect the dark one's sword.

They are slow, these two-legged ones. I would have torn his throat out by now. It can be difficult to do when they encase themselves in metal, but for the dark one, I would find a way.

She buries her face in my side.

Finally, He sends the dark one's sword flying out of his hand. It clatters to the floor near my feet, and while I hate to leave Her... I crouch over the sword and bare my teeth. The dark one cannot have it back. His shield moves quickly, but not as quickly as His sword, and I scent the blood on the air.

The dark one is beaten, and he drops down on all fours to display his submission. He would have better luck showing his belly. Her mate has hated him for a very long time now.

"Alistair," She says, just that, and He shakes His head. She prefers to let enemies of the pack live, but He... He _disobeys_. I bare my teeth as He kills the dark one. She is pack leader and Her wishes are law. He should know that!

The leadership challenge is met, now; the pack-of-all-packs will follow Him. "Alistair will be king," She says, to confirm it, "and I will rule beside him." That will bring our pack into the pack-of-all-packs very neatly. I approve of this.

The pack-of-all-packs does not. They put up a great howling, saying that She cannot, that She is not right, that they will never follow Her. She grows whiter and whiter as they bay at her, and I growl back. They are hurting Her, and She is my pack leader, and She is a great-hearted bitch who would honour them by leading.

Her mate says nothing.

Not then.

She gives up.

I have never known Her to do that. She stands there, fingers scratching my ears automatically, while they chatter away and work out just how they will make Him pack leader of the pack-of-all-packs, and it is hours before she slinks back to the den. If she had a tail, it would be between her legs.

She sits in her room, and does not allow any of the pack to enter. The howling bitch and the old bitch chatter through the door at her; she is silent. The small one climbs up a tree and leans in at the window; she ignores him. I lay my head on her lap, and whine a question she does not answer.

The sun hides below the horizon, and He comes back. I can smell Him outside the door before He knocks.

He calls Her name, and She opens the door for him.

He speaks casually, carelessly, and says things that hurt Her. He is to be pack-leader of the pack-of-all-packs. He renounces His – no, his place in our pack. The pack-of-all-packs will expect puppies, which he cannot father upon Her.

He no longer wishes to be her mate.

These two-legged ones... they fight, they betray, they lie and disobey.

She says nothing, and he doesn't hear the howling in her heart. Eventually he runs out of those words, like thorns in a paw, and he just looks at Her.

Then he leaves. She locks the door behind him, and she waits.

Then she cries.

The bitter water pours from her eyes, and I cannot comfort her. All I can do is be there while she cries, silent and faithful as a two-legged one can never be. I am so angry with him that my throat hurts from the howl I will not send up. It is deep night before her tears fade into sleeping.

I get up. I can unlock the door, and I slip silently from her room. I am not as soft-footed as a cat, but I can be quiet when I choose, and I choose so now.

There is business to deal with. Lies, and betrayal, and disobedience, and more importantly, Her howling heart.

I deal with it, and then I wait there until dawn.

She comes along the corridor, her feet quiet on the stone. She is looking for me, I think.

"Alistair?" she pushes the door open, and her eyes go wide. "Oh, Maker. _What have you done?"_

I wag my stubby tail.

She will surely be pleased that I have killed her traitorous mate. She will surely be happy again.

I am a good dog.


End file.
